


Sweaters

by softcorevulcan



Series: Person of Interest AUs [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: AU, AU - characters meet before the events of the show, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, College flashbacks, Crush, Enjoying Feelings for the sake of feeling them, Fluff, Friendship, Gratuitious past Nathan/Harold relationship, IT - Freeform, Light-Hearted, M/M, Out of Character, Pining, Possibly - maybe not, Pre-Slash, Slash, kind of canon compliant if you want it to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 00:55:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16776394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softcorevulcan/pseuds/softcorevulcan
Summary: Harold takes a side job, and he comes in wearing festive sweater after sweater. John's undercover as a security guard, and notices. They both remember what it feels like, having a crush again. Its nice to know that the feeling still exists.(AU, because it takes place before the events of the show. And involves a lot of Harold reminiscing about his brief romantic turbulence with Nathan, and the friendship that lasted beyond that.)





	Sweaters

**Author's Note:**

> There is genuinely a very lovely man who looks like a young Krychek (from The X Files) that comes into my work and has worn rad bright festive sweaters nonstop since the season started, and it’s wonderful.
> 
> This is maybe the closest I could come to fluff? It's a Canon Divergent AU - characters run into each other before the events of the show, when Nathan and Jessica are still alive. 
> 
> Also, I might just be starting a series of Canon Divergent AU ficlets. I’ve got a lot of ideas but they’re too Hot Mess ™ to be taken too seriously (Vampire Kara, a version of events where Root is in fact the same person as Winnifred Burkle from Angel). Apologies in advance for if the characters are a bit out of character. I also apologize for the vague company/tech references, I wrote this for the mushiness. I'm mainly just exploring ideas here.

It’s the end of November, and all the employees are back from Thanksgiving holiday. One of the programmers has been coming in wearing bright sweaters each day since.

The first day, it was a bright pine green sweater, with the collar of their white dress shirt sticking out of the top, next to the highly saturated red of the sweater collar. John thinks, the sweater probably had snowflakes on it. It might also have had candy canes knitted into the pattern. He can’t be totally certain.

The man who keeps wearing these sweaters comes in the front entrance, always a touch early, and John notices him just scurrying past with his grey peacoat on, mostly obscuring the festive attire underneath.

But on the days the man leaves for lunch - less now that it’s getting colder out, not that it was frequent to begin with - he doesn’t throw on his coat or button it shut until he’s coming out of the elevator and trudging toward the door.

John would try to catch a better glimpse of the sweaters when everyone’s leaving for the day, done with work, but the man usually leaves in the throng of the crowd. Or else he must stay so late, that John’s shift ends at the entrance before the man makes his exit.

The second day, the man comes in with a blood red jumper, with very apparent, detailed, white snowflakes across it. There's also a fluffy sheep's head peering out between the opening of his coat, as the man unbuttons it as he makes his way to the elevator, and presumably up to his office. John kind of wants to acknowledge it, somehow.

The third day it’s a striped affair - one half of the chest is multicolored in orange, blue, green, red, and the other is in two large chunks of orange and green. John catches sight of a sleeve, as the man is slipping off his coat to shift it into his arms, as the elevator is closing. He notes that one of the sleeves is patterned in black and white stripes.

The fourth day, John wants to say something. Maybe compliment the man’s nerve, to be wearing so many consecutively bright things to an office that is determinedly drab and dreary, especially now that the cold has settled outside and brought grey skies and white desolate snow to the city outside. John notices that today, there isn’t actually a dress shirt tucked neatly underneath the sweater. But the man is, in fact, still wearing a sweater. It’s much more subdued, this time - the main color is black, with a bright stripe of rainbow across the chest and another bright rainbow making up the collar that’s stretching up the man’s neck. This particular sweater is loose fitting. But, John supposes, the collar is high enough that maybe it was too hard to pair with another shirt with a collar underneath.

As the man walks by, unbuttoning his coat like always and meandering towards the elevator, John looks up from his desk and resolutely tries to catch the man’s eyes, throwing out a cheerful “Good morning.”

He doesn’t manage to catch those eyes, but upon the loud ring of his voice in the quiet morning, the man jerks slightly, eyes fluttering around and finding the source, and John receives a politely muted smile in return.

The man doesn’t say hello back, though. He notices John, then seems particularly frozen, just for an instant - and maybe John just imagines it - then gives that jolted attempt at a smile, and quickly shuffles into the elevator and disappears.

\-----

Harold started this job two months ago. The last job was too conspicuous, because damn it, he couldn’t just do a job half-assed. He just had to go and do it decently, and then his decently ended up being phenomenal, considering the associates he was dealing with, and that kind of notoriety was the exact opposite of what he needed in his life.

Nathan didn’t seem to really, genuinely, get why Harold was so staunch about not being the face of his own work. Nathan tried, really tried, to sort of understand. But he so clearly did not completely grasp the concept. At their last conversation in person, Nathan had been rather flummoxed over the fact Harold was nervous regarding this new job, and if it would suitably fit his needs, saying, “Well it’s not as if you need it. You could just not take a second job.”

Nathan really had no idea. A private life required a cover. A cover required a certain level of mediocrity to establish some kind of vibe that could be overlooked by others as just another normality, just another person no one cared to notice in life. And besides, maybe Harold had some particular extracurricular work he _did_ want to do. Work that required establishing himself within a few strategic companies and figuring out a few things.

The last company was useful, but ultimately replaceable. This new job was much more critical in it’s importance. If Harold was going to build a truly super-intelligent, groundbreaking AI, he did want a bit more consensus about how the rest of the world was doing on that front. Some people simply would not be the type to tell him upfront.

And others, well, they might ask why he wanted to know. That was definitely not a line of questioning he wanted to barrel into and get snarled up in.

He’s not the face - Nathan is. He’s just supposed to be some nobody of no notable significance who handles mundane particulars day by day. It would be rather absurd to think the influential minds would actually judge that persona he’s built and deem it to be someone they’d like to open up their grand ideas to. No, those days passed with MIT. And besides, a particular part of Harold would really, truly, like to figure these sorts of things out himself.

It’s not as if he has any difficulty delving into their private files and looking for digital traces of the information he’s looking for. It’s not as if the work they’ve assigned to him is of any remarkable challenge. Pleasantly enough, this company is actually filled with a number of qualified, promising staff, and Harold’s quick work doesn’t stand out too individually much amongst the range of his coworkers own notable efforts.

This place has been very easy to blend into. To get everyone to assume he’s exactly what he’s presenting himself as, nothing more, nothing in particular.

\-----

The fifth day, the man is wearing a wool sweater in a lavender hue, with a darker shirt collar peeking out at the top. It looks the most subdued of all of the recent outfits, so far. As he’s walking in, unbuttoning his jacket as usual, he also pulls off a matching hat and scarf set in the bright colors of a local sports team. How very in spirit of him.

When the man takes his hat off, his ears are bright red, likely from the cold. John supposes the hat must not have helped that much.

When he walks by, stuffing the scarf and hat into his pockets, John says good morning again. The man startles, and his hat slips away from his fingers and tumbles to the ground. Then the man is darting his rather wide eyes from John’s face, to the hat, and then to the scarf which is pushing itself out of a pocket that was probably too small to really ever contain it.

Then the man’s eyes resolutely settle away from John, and he makes to pick his things up in a rush. Before John can do more then push himself up to stand, the man is at the elevator button and pressing it, almost frantic.

John sits back down as the man enters the elevator. When the door is sliding shut, John catches the man staring over at him, eyes still startled and bright, and then maybe a flush of red blossoming across probably still cold cheeks.

Then the man is gone. Maybe, John just imagined the blush.

Work has been as mundane as you can get, outside of that man and his interesting attire.

John’s been stationed here, monitoring the security feeds, wearing this ugly monochrome uniform, getting needle tingles in his legs from not walking around enough, waiting. Apparently, there’s reason to believe some government-company collaborative project history is going to be tapped into and either threatened or stolen. Enough reason to place John here anyway, and make his December rather dreadful in it’s lack of excitement.

His boss said this company got a security breach about two weeks ago, and files related to his department were touched on. Kind of suspicious in general, that this company was working on a secret project, at any point, with anyone connected to John’s real job. But whatever. In the time since, something significant must have happened, because his boss decided to station him here, on site, under the cover of private security.

Which, technically, he was anyway.

At least he got to do this alone. A nice break from some of his coworkers as of late. They got kind of - intense, after a while. Or, rather, all of the time. Part of the job, John supposes.

If he had wanted a break from the constant tension of imminent high stakes and the fleeting impossibility of a moment of downtime, he sure as hell got it.

Not that technically he wasn’t in a volatile situation. His contact had been rather certain, when he’d been given the assignment, that whatever threat he was supposed to neutralize was going to have to go on site to find the information they’d been angling to get to with the original hack. Whatever the perpetrator had wanted, just wasn’t accessible remotely. At least, as far as John’s handlers were concerned. It wasn’t on him to figure out why he needed to be stuck in this place. The job was just to keep watch for the theft, prevent it, and apprehend the instigating party. If possible, figure out who put them up to it, and how they knew everything they’d already demonstrated knowing.

Simple, really. Still, it meant nothing much to do, until someone went for it and took the risk he was supposed to be waiting on.

If no one ended up making a move, how long would they make him stay here and babysit for a just-in-case-scenario?

John missed the action already.

\-----

Ever since Harold noticed the security guy that sits at the front desk, he’s been a wreck.

For some reason, the man is uncomfortably attractive to him. Maybe, maybe, that’s just his subjective opinion, and perhaps it is marginally possible that not everyone would have this overwhelming of a reaction. But - the man has a stark pair of eyes, set under strong eyebrows, and hair that’s dark and peppered with greys, and something is so wonderful about the fact the man is closer to Harold’s age than so many of the other fresh out of college faces at the company. And he’s got this soft way of smiling that’s just slightly upturned lip, and the instant Harold noticed it, he melted. His insides got all fuzzy and overwhelmed at it, it was so intense - and Harold can hardly bear to even look. He tried, desperately, hopelessly, tried, to meet the man’s eyes back the second time he noticed that smile.

But it was too much. Far too much.

Harold can’t believe this is so difficult for him, but there it is.

The man is overwhelmingly attractive, at least as far as Harold’s particular inner honing is concerned, impossibly so.

Nathan was never this, well, much, not even when they first met. Back then, in school, Harold had looked relatively soft on the eyes himself. He rather thought his hair was pretty nice, anyway. And Nathan had looked, okay, maybe a bit dashing. But not too much, just the right amount. It was bearable enough that Harold had still managed to drop down in the seat next to him in their shared lecture, and strike up conversation on a whim.

It hadn’t been a struggle just to meet the guy’s eyes.

But feelings do as they want, and aren’t always subject to the realities of the brain, to the rationality to which they should be able to recognize, but sometimes just can’t.

Fact of the matter is, the guy that sits at the front desk is beautiful.

Harold managed to snatch a glimpse of the man’s broad shoulders, for some reason delighting him so much in their form that Harold felt himself become almost dizzy, before he’d had to glance away in fright at even the possibility that in fact, the man might look up and back at him.

For some reason, that thought was just too much to even risk. Even though rationally, Harold might even have found a use for such an occasion - it would, if nothing else, give him an opportunity to admire the man more as they perhaps exchanged pleasantries. Nothing wrong with gazing at someone and losing yourself in how radiant they are, under the pretense of, at least talking to them, at least having that to blame for all the attention you’re doting.

But Harold can’t even manage that, his panic response kicks in unnecessarily too hard, and then it’s an instant attempt at flight, because he already knows if he tried to fight and stand his ground, he might just flush impossibly obvious, might just be too easily read as checking him out. Because, honestly, Harold felt like his whole body, whole existence, was honed in on the man.

Surely that had to be glaringly apparent to everyone else. The instant heat at just being in the same room as him, the magnetic urge to look at him and the adrenaline panic to not, to not even risk it, and the impossibly warm spark of joy when the man reached out for him, and gave him that moment to admire justifiably for just a moment.

Harold was, to put it bluntly, desperate for the man to say hello to him again. Just so he could have that one little moment, one little vaguely safe feeling instant, to glance up his eyes and take him in. And maybe contemplate saying something back in response, though he hadn’t actually gotten that far yet.

Yes, he had much more important matters to be concerned with. And he was, when he was working. This one small slice of his life was just an absolutely wonderful haze of pleasure bookending all of those other moments, pleasant. Simple. It was just a matter of how he felt. Nothing more, nothing less.

So few things in life were that simple anymore.

And it was rather nice - something Harold might even admit to himself, he might savor. He hadn’t felt a crush in a long while, and nothing this strong in years. He was sort of the type to close off and numb himself, after a breakup, after things failed.

Nathan was always the type to jump right back to it, sometimes while still in the middle of the failing. It didn’t seem particularly ordered, manageable. But, Harold supposed, what he couldn’t handle and what Nathan wouldn’t tolerate were two quite separate things. It’s why Nathan is the face of their work.

Harold can’t really dislike Nathan for it, either. While it’s not a choice he’d make, and not something he particularly cherishes Nathan for, the man hadn't done it to him, at least. Back in school, oh, Harold might have dragged out Nathan one too many times until at least to Harold, it maybe really was a date.

And Nathan had been chivalrous enough, indulging to the point of eventually flirting back even, maybe understanding it was a date too, and maybe they had been going somewhere - this had been after one of Nathan’s more turbulent college breakups, he’d been getting out of something long term, and Harold had maybe, stealthily, taken his one chance in the small window of Nathan being truly single to swoop in and attempt to swoon him.

He remembers confessing, while they walked down the sidewalk after a night out, how he liked him. Nathan had been smiling all soft, half engaging in Harold’s long winded words about everything crossing his mind and half just losing himself in looking at the scenery, content to be relaxed as he leaned against Harold. He remembers that Nathan just said, “I like you too,” like it was obvious, like it was silly, like he was humoring Harold by consoling him about something that maybe he forgot somehow in his drunkenness.

And Harold insisting how it wasn’t about that, how he meant he really liked Nathan.

Nathan chuckling, burying his head against Harold’s shoulder and neck, his lips warm, the heat of him sinking through Harold’s shirt, warming Harold’s skin. “Okay,” he’d said.

“Want to go out sometime?” Harold had replied, trying to impart something important, that he had still thought Nathan was blatantly missing.

“Yeah,” Nathan had voiced, against Harold, utterly relaxed.

They had, in fact, gone out after that. But then, they always went out. And sober Harold had no idea if sober Nathan had ever actually realized Harold had been trying to ask if they could date.

So, in his unsureness, but mostly just because Harold didn’t want to rush into anything physical too quick, until he was sure there was something worthwhile to pursue there. Because they were best friends and he didn’t want to mess that up - Harold had hesitated to make a blatant move. They’d gone for burgers after a class, purposely spending their time there talking about life, asking new questions they didn’t usually deem appropriate enough to bring up with a friend.

Then the next time, Nathan had purposely suggested a nice Chinese restaurant he loved, that he wanted to take a date to, and they’d gone there. That night, Nathan walked him home, and had even tried to kiss Harold as they’d reached Harold’s door.

But Harold, maybe unsure, or maybe just not quite ready for that change to their dynamic yet, had just kind of blushed and dodged subtly to the side, so Nathan had just hugged him instead.

A few weeks later, Harold had been invited to lunch together again, and had been rather looking forward to the new trend of Nathan possibly asking him out on proper, real, genuine dates. One of Nathan’s other friends was at the table when Harold got to the diner.

Harold just figured, it was Nathan trying to introduce Harold to more people, to more of his exhaustingly expansive social circle. But then halfway through, Nathan mentioned some girl he was seeing. “She said she loved me. I like her a lot, Harold.”

Of course, Harold knew they weren’t exclusive. He had known that. He had been aware of the possibility Nathan might be seeing other people besides him.

Maybe he’d just let himself get too attached to the fantasy that Nathan had been going to special care to court him in particular - to take Harold to things Harold liked, to ask things about Harold’s life other people didn’t ask, didn’t get to know. Maybe to Harold, the familiar touching, the easy smiles Nathan gave and and complimentary words, meant more than what was really were. To him, they’d sure felt significant.

“Okay,” Harold had said.

“I’m thinking about getting serious with her. I think, I think I love her back.” Nathan continued. There was a witness at the table, Nathan’s friend. Harold had suddenly felt a little set up. Like this was all orchestrated so Nathan could turn him down without actually having to address anything. Like Harold’s feelings didn’t matter.

“Then you should. If you want her.”

Nathan wasn’t a bad friend. He hadn’t been the most ideal man to have a crush on, but. He hadn’t cheated, at least not on Harold. Not technically. It’s not like they’d ever committed, or decided to become exclusive, or anything. They’d never had any kind of discussion about that. Harold hadn’t even gotten to the point of kissing him yet, before it was already over.

A part of Harold bitterly wondered, if he’d just kissed Nathan sooner, just gone for it and tried to be more overtly physical, overtly sexual, if Nathan would have picked him instead.

But it didn’t matter, it was the wrong avenue to bother pondering. Nathan and him would’ve probably just fizzled out, like every single relationship Nathan had back then - and most of the ones he had now. Nathan liked to be all sweepingly romantic and overwhelmed in the passion - and then he liked to jump ship when it bored him, onto whatever new was more encompassing of his interest. He’d kept doing that, over and over, tumultuous, until finally settling on his wife.

His wife whom was still not necessarily guaranteed exclusivity. Unfortunately, in her case, it had been promised, and Nathan had fucked up. Nathan shouldn’t have lied to anyone. Harold figures Nathan knows that, it's probably why he takes the rides in their relationship in stride. Maybe Nathan even likes all the drama.

As horrific as that kind of situation might appear to Harold.

Once, years after college, both drunk on wine and practically cuddling on a sofa at Nathan’s place, alone for the night, Nathan had said to him, “You know, I wanted to pick you. I wanted to, but I wanted you to fight for me, to prove you wanted me. And you just let me go like it was nothing.”

They’d been, probably too close, closer than friends should have been lying. Both with their legs sprawled out in front of them, sunken down into the couch, torsos overlapping gently as they leaned into the cushions.

“Of course I didn’t fight. I thought that was what you wanted. I just wanted you to be happy, Nathan.”

Nathan hadn’t seemed wholly pleased with the answer he got. Like somehow the mind game he’d been operating at, Harold should’ve picked up anyway, should’ve played the role in. Nathan was older now though, he knew better than to mention it. If his perspective was illogical, it wasn’t like Harold was about to humor him now, when everything was said and done with years ago.

“Yeah.” Nathan had just curled into him, stayed there a long while, then leaned forward to pour them both more wine.

\-----

It wasn’t hard work, finding the information Harold wanted. He’d tripped a tiny spectrum of security alerts several days ago, while on a trip across the country, on conference with Nathan, and that had given him all the prep he needed, to know how to be undetected for the main search.

He’d found most everything he wanted to check into days ago. There was a mention of a failed joint program with the government - likely why the government was still looking for a program like the one Harold was developing. The project hadn’t gone far, hadn’t been any more impressive than the leaders in technology were currently using for their own site search algorithms. Nothing that was going to be capable of what his machine was already managing. And it was only in its infancy. Barely what Harold knew it could be, might become.

This company, these people - they hadn’t made anything in particular he might’ve found helpful. He didn’t bother trying to get ahold of any particulars, any print-only copies. There was no reason. The friends he’d had at MIT could do better - had, in fact.

Harold wondered where some of them were. Maybe one of them would have something he could take into consideration, ponder.

His machine was on its way to recognizing him. In a way he wasn’t sure any machine had ever really acknowledged a person before, the way his did. It sure would be nice to have someone out there who could even slightly relate to what he was dealing with right now.

Even barely.

Nathan kind of understood, but he - he looked at it with such a lens of humanity. Putting features onto something that really can’t be compared, it tinted his judgement. Made it hard to get a clear perspective. It would be nice, just to juggle ideas off one more person, just a little, even just a few vague theories of it. Someone who thought a little more cause and effect than Nathan.

He was still keeping the job, though.

It was a nice company. And a sweet woman named Katie said hello every so often and complimented his choice in clothing. The other employees were sufficiently talented, so he didn’t have to try to hard to blend. There were a smattering of all ages, so he wasn’t getting drowned out by youth, the culture was actually quite nice, sequential training, casual teamwork with time to be independent on individual tasks, plenty of employee retention, just cause the employees enjoyed it here.

And it was kind of fun, in an odd sort of way, helping the competition against his own company. With any luck, it would spur his own employees to take more innovative risks on their own projects.

It also gave him a chance to get a break from Nathan when they weren’t working on the machine, even though the space of a whole company should’ve been enough of a gap, it wasn’t. This, a whole different location, none of his or Nathan’s men a shout away - this felt properly private.

\-----

It’s been almost two weeks now, since John’s started on this job. Nothing is happening.

He already did a check of all the new employees - people who maybe made the long distance attack, and then applied for the place in person afterward to get closer. There’s virtually no one new here though - except for John himself. There’s also a girl named Pree - she’s new, and working on a project on artificial intelligence learning, but she’s an intern and her arrival’s been scheduled six months in advance. Also, she’s not doing work related to anything classified, and for the most part, all her tasks consist of just checking other people’s work and kind of doing her own small things.

Also, she started the job a few days before the information got accessed remotely, and likely accessed from a location that was not terribly close. She’s only been here and San Antonio, in the last two years. That’s what her plane ticket purchase history says, her whole purchase history in fact, along with a few random purchases in cities a few hours away from those two main locales, probably during whatever tiny trips she takes for leisure or visiting family. As far as hackers go, she doesn’t really make a deal of hiding anything, or making any deviation from a pattern hard to find.

She hasn’t done a single thing since John’s arrived to arouse his suspicion, or anyone else’s for that matter. The most notable thing about her is that she’s kind of adorable, and she made an AI that wrote a generated Jane-Austin-like story once. That’s about all John can find.

No one else is that new. There’s a few people hired a few months back, during a round of fresh hires to fill up vacancies - John’s mystery sweater man being one of them. Harold Martin, it turns out, is his name.

He got hired in, despite having work that was a bit below what the hiring managers were looking for, because he interviewed well. Then, upon actually starting the job, he pulled himself together enough to improve his skills to something resembling the level of his peers. In this company, he was pretty average. Although John wouldn’t necessarily have pegged him as a good conversationalist.

The way the guy stiffened up and practically ran away after trying to smile at John each morning, John figured he had a little bit of difficulty with socializing.

Unfortunately, the guy really was just what he seemed - normal. No fun case for John to chase. The sweaters really were the most notable thing he’d seen since taking this cover.

The absolute only thing even marginally capturing his interest.

Until today.

Today, on his way out of the office, the man - Harold Martin - walked over to his desk, rather pointedly in fact.

John looked up, startled a bit himself.

Harold Martin was quick though. He set down a wrapped chocolate candy in the moments it took John to focus his full attention on Harold, and then said, “Happy Holidays.”

Harold Martin met his eyes for a moment - just a moment - and John felt like he was being looked right into. Like when his covers get blown.

But the response wasn’t right for that. Harold Martin made contact, blatant fondness, as he stared, and smiled irrepressibly, then immediately started trudging off. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you,” John responded.

No one had looked at John like that, in a long while. Since before he took this job, his real job.

John had almost forgotten.

\-----

Work’s been going remarkably well. Dealing with Nathan, has not.

Harold got out of their shared workspace alright. Then, later, got Nathan out of his dining room and into a cab, successfully enough. Nathan’s having life trouble, honestly. Something, something, he-may-have-messed-up, and instead of talking through it like people are supposed to settle conflicts, he’s resolved to just ignore it and see if it goes away.

That works sometimes with press misnomers, but not so well with relationships. But that’s just Harold’s opinion. That maybe he’s got a whole arguments’ worth of reading related articles, past experiences, and citations to back up with. But Nathan isn’t going to be having any of it, and he’s realized if he moons on and on about how they could be creating the first real, official, artificial life form, then Harold will get overwhelmed and shut down whatever they’re talking about.

In the middle of working on a side project he’s exploring at the new side job, Nathan’s texting him incessantly.

Harold let it slip, that maybe, there’s a very attractive person Harold walks by in the mornings.

_‘Talk to him, oh my god Harold.’_

_‘I did.’_ Harold is curt, he’s supposed to be busy - technically working, not that he is, not on this company’s work anyhow - but he can’t exactly maintain that illusion if his phone is vibrating and buzzing non stop.

_‘I mean something important. Ask him out. Did u ask him out??’_

_‘No’_

_‘Because he’s too hot, right? Harold you’re a BILLIONAIRE you don’t get off acting like you’re intimidated.’_

_‘Well I can’t control it.’_

_‘You’re amazing Harold, he’ll love you. Do it.’_

_‘Do it Harold. Today. Now. Nowww.’_

_‘Don’t you have work to do, Nathan?’_

_‘Yes. Helping my friend find happiness.’_

_‘I’m serious. You better not fall behind.’_

_‘Find what you wanted, btw?’_

_‘Nothing worthwhile. Nothing to find.’_

_‘I thought there was?’_

_‘Me too. But there wasn’t.’_

_‘Well, better make the experience worth it. Go get yourself a snack.’_

_‘You don’t understand. He’s so gorgeous I can’t even look at him. It’s too much.’_

_‘No one is too much Harold. Suck it up, maybe he’ll suck too.’_

_‘Go do your job.’_

_‘I thought you were wearing all your sweaters lately to prove you didn’t care what ppl thought? So why ruin that now and start acting like u have to be what other ppl want again?’_

_‘This is not the same. Stop.’_

_‘It is the same. Stop caring what other ppl think. It doesn’t matter. It matters ur happy. Doing what u want. Being who u want.’_

_‘THank you Nathan. Now stop.’_

_‘Go be who u want and ask out your cute guy. Get laid. Get on it, life is ticking.’_

_‘You just had to go and ruin it. You ruined the mood you know.’_

_‘!!!!! I’ll stop when you ask him out!!! !! !’_

_‘You’ve obviously never found anyone this hot.’_

_‘Stop making excuses Harold.’_

\-----

It’s been two and a half weeks since John started this job.

Now that he’s paying attention, Mr. Harold Martin always seems to flush a little red around the ears when he walks by. His mouth flutters open often, like he’s trying to get some words out, but he doesn’t, so John keeps saying, “Good morning,” as a small mercy to the guy.

Mr. Martin always glances over at him, meets his eyes, when he does, and smiles back for an instant. Each time it’s so unnecessarily warm - it reminds John of civilian life. Of people greeting him warmly in locally owned diners, people he’s supposed to know, something he hasn’t experienced in a good long time.

It reminds him of Jessica saying hello in between shifts, when he got to see her, how she just lit up and glowed.

No one looks at him like that anymore. It’s -

Its nice.

It makes him miss it though. Miss the life he chose to walk away from.

He’s not supposed to let anything make him feel that way. It’s a weakness, and John doesn’t do weak, anymore. It doesn’t help him do his job.

\-----

Harold’s decided. He’s only going to be at this company for another few weeks, anyway. If an office romance goes south, he can just bail and pretend it never happened, they never met.

It’s ideal really, considering how he likes to order his life. Very no strings, if it happens to be an experience he’d like to remove. Nathan is, incredibly, annoying at times. But he is right. Harold has nothing to be afraid of. It doesn’t even matter, in the end, if he ends up a blathering mess with a full flushed face stuttering out his words. Not like he can’t move forward from that. There’s always the next time. Another person, another experience, another place.

It’s just, he hasn’t been so excited over someone, in such a long time. He’d hate to lose that warm giddy feeling. He’s honestly perfectly content, to just let it be, and happily feel it for small moments, then get on with his life.

No need to push things.

But he’s decided, for real this time - not like the last several days when he’d resolved to march over and say some off the cuff compliment and then ask if maybe he could give his number. No, this time was it. This time had to be it.

If only because Harold was planning to leave soon, and he didn’t want to try to build up from phone number, to flirting, to date, with someone he didn’t already see on a daily basis. If it was hard to work up the nerve now, then it could only get worse, without this familiar cushion of familiar space, familiar situation, to rely upon.

He walks to the elevator, and rides it down, a touch early today. He’s going to go meet Nathan for a late lunch. And if he’s being honest, to gush to his best friend about whatever outcome ensues. This kind of mix, sheer glee and terror smashed together unsettlingly, was in itself a feeling too overwhelming to bear keeping to oneself.

When he got to the ground floor, he walked himself resolutely toward the desk - not looking directly, not wanting to abort in fear before it was too late to back out.

But the security man wasn’t there. When Harold finally found the strength to glance upward, for a second, he noticed the distinct lack of the usual person residing there. The spark eating up his insides stilled as well, as he took his time surveying the area, noting each area the object of his attraction clearly wasn’t.

Harold hadn’t even asked his name.

\-----

Not that Harold would have admitted it to anyone, but a few weeks later the curiosity got the better of him, late one night, and he tried to do a search of the missing man, in spite of himself.

The company he’d worked at had no records. Nothing.

Everything had been scrubbed. Every name that popped up, every face, was someone else, some other employee. The man didn’t exist.

In the late hour, Harold almost felt he’d lost his mind. Like that person that had reminded him he still had the capacity to feel that, to have the potential to be attracted to someone again, was a mirage.

But Harold was so very sure he wasn’t.

The company’s security camera footage was wiped too.

Harold, in a barely humored part of his mind, idly, just fleetingly, considered asking his machine. But that was not a good idea, and so it was removed after one small instant of contemplation.

Some things were to remain mysteries, it seemed. Only to be revealed, if the universe deemed it to be relevant, at some unknowable point.

Harold went back to his real work.


End file.
